


They Just Hate You Anyway

by LettersofSky



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Neglect, Pesterquest Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 12:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21253064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LettersofSky/pseuds/LettersofSky
Summary: You’re alone, always motherfucking alone.Until you’re not.





	They Just Hate You Anyway

**Author's Note:**

> So the Pesterquest Gamzee route gave me emotions and I decided to deal with them the best way I could, which was through writing 2k. Yes.

You’re alone, always motherfucking alone.

You’re on the shore of the ocean, waiting for your seagoatdad to come back and spend time with you, maybe even pretend to give a single fuck about how you’re doing and the fact that somehow you’re still alive.

Because you are.

You’re still alive.

Still breathing.

Persisting to be a motherfucking stain on the colour that runs through your veins like everyone says you are and you just continue to draw breath.

And you’re alone.

Until you’re not.

The silence is torn apart, ripped into the tiniest of motherfucking pieces by some unknown motherfucker that’s… not a threat. Not a danger. Not yet at least. But you know better than to believe that any motherfucker you meet this close to the water front won’t have some wanting to do harm against you, there’s no friends here, none anywhere near your hive, only the danger of seadwellers that you’re supposed to be hiding from and endless, empty silence.

But this motherfucker, new and unknown and unreliable in their threatening potential, they don’t do you no harm. They’re making offerings of friendship with Karkat’s name and you decide to trust them, you decide to trust them because you’re lonely and you want to believe that your friend doesn’t actually hate you, that he doesn’t want you to be alone and he’s sent someone to spend time with you.

So you invited them inside your hive to spend time with you.

It’s… the first time you’ve ever had someone else in your hive. You can’t help but notice how they react to the state of your hive and you feel yourself wilt the tiniest bit before you force yourself to ignore it. Your hive’s a little messy yes, but you’ll fix it up soon enough you just… haven’t had much of a reason to clean up before. You don’t have anyone that would come visit and seagoatdad hasn’t been around for who knew how motherfucking long, wasn’t like there was anybody around to be getting their motherfucking judging on.

No one but you.

And who are you to judge? Little unwanted motherfucker you are.

You don’t care how your hive is cleanliness wise, you don’t even care enough about you to care about that, no wonder nobody wants to come bother with you living like this how much worse could you be you useless excuse for a—

You move into your meal-preparation block. You need to do something to distract yourself before you think, before you do, something that you’ll regret.

Like you always do.

But there’s pie. The miracle that helps you keep yourself all kinds of motherfucking calm and mellow and detached from the reality of your existence; the ache of loneliness, the gnawing of hunger, the crawling sensation of disappointment that exudes from your whole entire being.

But there’s miracles. And you can forget about all that because you know that if you just keep at it and endure things a while longer then you’ll see that everything you’ve gone through has been worth it in the end. You have to believe that, if you don’t then what reason do you have behind your existence? Why would someone be forced to live like you have if not for some greater purpose to be bestowed upon them?

You’d take anything at this rate. Greater purpose, relief from the life you know. Anything.

But until then, you’ve got miracles.

Until you don’t.

Your new friend, brought onto you from somewhere unknown with your friend’s name and wants on their mouth, tells you it’d be best to give up your pies.

They tell you that it’d be better for you, healthier. They tell you it’s what you should do.

And you do it.

You do it.

You throw out your miracle pie. Your escape from your life and the empty, loneliness of your hive. All because someone who wants to actually spend time with you asks you to.

You leave the room for a moment, returning to your meal preparation block to try to find something else to dull the gnawing in your stomach.

You’re only gone a few minutes.

They’re gone when you get back.

You were only gone a motherfucking moment.

They’re motherfucking gone when you get back.

You’re alone again.

You’re alone without your pies to help take you away from all of this.

But…

But they have to be coming back. Maybe they’ve just stepped out to take a call or something like that. They’ll be back soon, nothing to worry about.

They’ll be motherfucking back soon.

There’s nothing to be motherfucking worried about.

They’ll be back soon.

They aren’t.

You spend the whole night waiting for them, before you have to admit to yourself that they’re not coming back and you’ve been left abandoned and alone again.

You don’t understand.

What did you do wrong?

You threw out your pie like they wanted why did they leave?

Did you do something wrong without realizing?

Were they testing you? Trying to see if you’d listen to their advice even without them being around?

Without letting you know?

How motherfucking cruel of them.

But you… you’ve endured worse. You have.

And if Karkat sent them to you then there must be a reason behind their actions. Maybe Karkat’s ordered it of them, maybe he’d grown sick of you not listening to him and he’d sent the not-lusus-motherfucker to make sure you would and he was testing you, making sure you were worthy of companionship, friendship, of not being—

You troll him.

He doesn’t answer at first. When he does it tears your pumper in two because he’s talking about being busy with some face to face friends and that he’d get back to you later and that’s so motherfucking cruel.

Why them? Why was Karkat happy to meet them face to face when he kept avoiding you when you’d asked him? Why weren’t you worthy of his face to face presence? What had you done wrong? How could you fix it?

You don’t know.

You don’t know you don’t know YOU DON’T MOTHERFUCKING KNOW

You don’t make yourself one of your miracle pies even though you want that distance, that floating detachment from yourself so, so much.

You’re so alone. The only sound in your ears the endless ebb and flow of the ocean just beyond the walls of your hive.

You hate it.

YOU HATE IT.

You don’t want to be alone anymore.

You don’t know how much time passes. You lose track of it too easily, it could be minutes, hours, days. You don’t know.

YOU DON’T MOTHERFUCKING KNOW.

Your hands are shaking, you can barely hold anything, can barely stand up straight, can barely think for the static that is your thoughts in your head. It’s too much and too little and you’re too much and too little and there’s something wrong with you there’s always something wrong with you you were stupid to ever think otherwise no wonder they haven’t come back yet you’re a failure failure FAILURE

You need to get it out.

Need to get whatever’s wrong with you out.

You need to.

You motherfucking need to.

YOU NEED TO.

-THUMP-

You awaken hours later. It must be hours.

Your head’s ringing more than usual but it’s silent.

So motherfucking blessedly silent.

You stumble to your feet, cradling your head in your hand and it’s wet. Wet with your leaking colour and you must be a mess you’re always such a motherfucking mess no wonder you don’t—

You catch sight of yourself in the large screen in front of your reclining platform and you feel RAGE.

You don’t mean to throw your fist into it. Or maybe you do. YOU DON’T MOTHERFUCKING KNOW.

It felt good though. No denying that. The pain in your hand distracts from the hurt you can’t be putting your eyes on and you relish in it.

It starts to fade too quickly and you’re left with just yourself, your aching, cut hand and the broken, shattered reflection of yourself in the screen.

Your breath’s a weak, shuddering thing as you make yourself leave the room. You need to move, you need to get away from the unwanted monster staring back at you, need to get away from the knowledge that there’s something inherently wrong in you, that there’s something deserving of your aching loneliness and abandonment and—

You find mirrors. There’s so many in your hive, why is there so many here? You can’t have obtained them all yourself when did you do something so MOTHERFUCKING STUPID?

They break as easily as the screen did.

You don’t bother to protect yourself from the shards that fall into your face. You don’t care if they mar your visage you hate the look of yourself, why shouldn’t your outside reflect the utter disgrace of your inisides?

There’s an alert on your husktop. Someone’s been trying to get through to you on trollian.

It’s a mysterious contact. One you don’t recognize. It’s text is all white and wrong and it’s speaking of the Messiahs and Miracles and you… you need them. You motherfucking need that. You need to trust, to believe, it’s all so awful without it and you can still feel the wrongness underneath your skin and you…

The white text tells you it knows how to fix that. Knows how to make you good enough for your Messiahs.

And isn’t that… isn’t that what you want to be?

You can’t be good enough for seagoatdad. You can’t be good enough for your friends. Maybe, just maybe you can be good enough for your Messiahs?

You want… YOU MOTHERFUCKING WANT TO BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR THEM, TO BE MOTEHRFUCKING GOOD ENOUGH FOR SOME MOTHERFUCKER.

Please…

Please it’s all, all you want.

Your hate friends don’t care, they’ve never cared, you were deluding yourself otherwise weren’t you?

Of motherfucking course you were. There’s no way any one of them actually gave a SINGLE MOTHERFUCKING DAMN ABOUT YOU. Not Karkat, not that white not-lusus, not Tavros, not Equius not anybody.

And you don’t blame them.

There’s something wrong in you, there always has been, there always will be. They were all so motherfucking smart to see it, to know it long before you did of course they never gave a damn about you, just their stupid doped, drugged up clown, there to try to make them laugh and remind them that the hemospectrum was bullshit since it produced someone as fucked up as you were.

The white text promises though. It promises you that the Messiahs will welcome you, that they’ll be so motherfucking pleased with you if only you do what it asks of you.

You need to. It’ll be easy.

You’re a highblood. Purple. A clown of the Mirthful Motherfuckers on High and culling should be second nature to you by now, you wouldn’t have survived as long as you had if it weren’t.

The white text knows that you’ll be able to do it.

You try not to focus on how much the assurance, the confidence in yourself and your abilities, eases something jagged and razor-edged in your chest.

The white text is true after all. You’ve culled seadwellers that’ve tried to do the same to you in self-defence and no matter how good, how trained your “friends” wanted to claim to be, there was no way any of them could compete with the natural strength and endurance of someone so much higher than they were.

The white text urges you go. Time to get your clubs and go do what you were all up and motherfucking BORN TO BE DOING.

It tells you to start at Karkat and you see nothing wrong with that.

He decided you were better off alone without your one comfort, your one escape from the reality of your existence, it was only fair that he be second to reap the rewards of his actions against you.

You had to share miracles with friends after all.

Honk :o)


End file.
